


So It Goes

by Calculatrice



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Inspired by Fanfiction, Like literally the happiest ending possible don't worry, POV Second Person, Temporary Character Death, bad ending-esque stuff but it's not the end it's ok, no explicitly romantic stuff, there's some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 22:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13420725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calculatrice/pseuds/Calculatrice
Summary: It goes like this.(In which Murphy’s Law isn’t much of alaw- more something to be gleefully stomped on.)





	So It Goes

**Author's Note:**

> Structure inspired by a beautifully written One Piece fanfiction, which I'll link when I _find_ it ffs.

It goes like this.

In exchange for all the help you’ve given Division One and to the encouragement of both you and your father, Inspector Megure takes you on a ride in a police helicopter. Hearing of the preparations to stop a heist being pulled by a master of disguise, you smirk and don’t hesitate. You call for blueprints, you deliver orders to the determined members of the force with every new deduction you make. The channel you’re tuned into soon becomes flooded with updates being called in urgent tones, a frenetic mishmash of “ _he’s disappeared!”_ and _“This is Kuwabara on the third floor, unable to move, sir!”_ You feel the beginnings of excitement as you cut through chaos with your voice, frequently pausing to wrack your brains because you’re undoubtedly fighting a _genius._

You watch the hand-less clock flutter slightly in the wind, a quiet laugh leaving you at the sheer _audacity_ of it all _._ You snatch Megure’s gun, your arm holding steady as you summon all the concentration you can muster. Your precise shots undo the screen and your heart beats a steady rhythm of anticipation, because you have to _see,_ who is this thief, so bold, so clever, so-

An inexplicable red flash of energy slams into the side of the helicopter, and your grip on the doorway handle keeps you steady, but your aim is heavily jostled. Your heart leaps in horror in time with your shot, you think _no, no, no_ when the bullet rips through fabric instead of supports and-

You hear a shocked cry of pain.

The gun drops from your numb fingers to the street below. Megure is calling your name but you can’t think to listen or respond. Your eyes search the shifting fabric, praying to a god you’ve never believed in that you haven’t hit vitals, that you haven’t- _haven’t._

The broken supports of the heavy sheet finally buckle, and the screen falls away. The thief is gripping his thigh and blood is seeping steadily between his gloved fingers. What you can see of his face is as white as his suit. The thief looks up towards you, and your heart clenches at the pure panic and fear you see on a face that can’t be any older than your own.

Inspector Nakamori looks stunned as he mouths a name, reaching towards a white sleeve. The thief dodges, but stumbles on his injured leg, falling backwards off the ledge. You finally snap to action, urging the helicopter pilot to go down and ignoring Megure’s calls, because you _will not_ let this boy die-

But you didn’t need to. Nakamori grabs the boy’s wrist, and though his hand is shaking the grip is sure. Your knees weaken underneath you, but you feel no relief. The helicopter cuts off all escape for the injured boy, and though you have unwittingly followed correct procedure your heart is sinking, sinking.

Later the boy is led, handcuffed, to a police car. The Inspector of the task force is sitting with his face in his hands as a girl who looks startlingly like Ran sobs into his shoulder. Oddly enough, someone has wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, as if you are the victim in this mess, as if you didn’t shoot lead into a boy who might be younger than even you. Megure should be scolding you, you think, at the very least for taking possession of a police weapon, but he only rests a heavy hand on your shoulder. There is something sad in his eyes as he looks at you.

(why at you? you’ve made someone suffer you’re wrong you’re wrong you’re wrong)

This is what this task force has been working towards, for _decades_ , even, you can hear the scattered murmurs of officers all around you. Perhaps that means that you should be proud of your critical role in all of this, but the sight of scarlet staining white gloves still lingers fresh in your memory, and you can’t, can’t feel happy at all. You’ve condemned a boy to incarceration, as you have so many other people without any hesitation, but this time it tastes like poison in your mouth. You feel lost. And, oddly, there is a slowly yawning hole inside of you that makes you feel like you’ve lost something, like a diamond crumbling to graphite in your hands.

(you ignore the burn watering your eyes because you have no right no right _no right_ )

There is nothing left for you to do, so you simply watch, wrapped in blue wool and barely seeing. An officer opens the police car door, and you refocus when the boy looks up, up at you.

The utter, broken devastation in his eyes haunts your nightmares for the rest of your life.

Your story ends there.  

* * *

 

Or, it could go like this.

When the unknown shooter takes out the last support for the screen, you duck underneath the fluttering sheet and escape, your heart pounding with adrenaline from what is your closest call yet. Some odd part of you that you don’t fully understand yet is singing with joy, hoping beyond all reason that you’ll have to face that opponent again. Properly, so that you’ll be able to enjoy the look on their face when you foil their plans. Because you _will_ foil them _,_ you’re certain no one will ever catch you, but if there is someone who can make “uncatchable” become the highest of titles-

(It must be them)

-then you will gladly welcome their presence at your nights.

Akako didn’t do anything at your Clock Tower heist, as she tells you the next morning, though she scolds you that it was a very near thing, and that you would do well to heed her warnings in the future. You ignore her, obviously, because really – she’s tried to kill you. Besides, you take pride in the fact that you have always succeeded where she has told you you’ll fail.

You ponder your next target, the Black Star, and when you glance at your calendar an idea comes to mind. Snickering, you start the first draft of your note with a flourishing _April Fool_ at the very top, and you wonder if anyone will understand its significance.

You think that probably no one will, which only makes it funnier.

You step down on to a rooftop bathed in silvery light, empty of any of the members of your task force. You almost sigh, but then you notice the black-haired figure crouched near the edge of the building.

“Hello there,” you call, wary but still as polite as ever. “What are you doing in a place like this?”

A streak of sparks rip through the ink of the sky, bursting into a shower of bright yellow far above you. You stare at where they dissipate into thin smoke, blinking in surprise, and your earpiece is suddenly flooded with calls of _“what was that? Did you see that?”_ The teenager turns to look at you, a bland smile on his face.

“Fireworks,” he replies calmly, and then looks towards the helicopters in feigned shock. “My, it seems the police has noticed us!”

“Looks like you’re no ordinary kid,” you acknowledge, smirking a little at the affront on the teenager’s face at the address. He can’t know that he might be older than you, after all. You wonder if his was the hand behind the gun, and something anticipatory curls within you when he gives you a sharp, proud grin. You can’t quite pull your eyes away from him, committing every part of his image to memory, though you know it’s not necessary. This one will come see you again and again, you can _feel it._  

“Kudo Shinichi,” he pronounces, his calculating blue eyes fully focused on you. “Det-”

The panicked call of _“Bocchama!”_ in your ear only gives you enough time to register shock before a resounding _bang_ rings out, and Kudo Shinichi pitches forward and.

Drops.

_Snipers,_ your brain tells you as you stare blankly at the black hair being soaked by a widening pool of blood.

(you can see a hole in his skull how can there be a hole there can’t be surely it’s just too dark for you to see clearly surely surely surely-)

You take stumbling steps forward even as you hear task force members filling the roof with their yells, letting a smoke bomb fall from your fingers like an afterthought. Under the pink cover you lean down and shakily press your ear to a warm back, and a choked cry wrenches itself from your lips when no comforting heartbeat greets you. Tears sting painfully at your eyes as the smoke begins to fade, but you force yourself into some semblance of control. Chest tight, you drop a flashbang and join the confused mess of police officers, wiping the red from your face.

Later, much later, you might learn that They already knew him, that a highly-regarded member had seen a display of his skills and never forgot, that the sniper had recognised the famous detective speaking alone with you and feared that you had made an ally, feared the protection of a genius on top of your already impenetrable cloak of disguise.

But your story ends there.

* * *

 

Or, it goes like this.

Despite Ran’s insistence that you go home after such a horrible event, you tell her to go on ahead of you to check your suspicions. You’re struck by what you witness, and struck _down_ by a demon in black, and you think you might die as you burn, burn, burn. You wake in a world that looms over you, and you begin a new life where you lie through your teeth at every moment.

When you follow the note’s clues straight into the elevator of a high-rise hotel, you’re nothing more than a rambunctious child, and KID calls you _boy._ But after the sparks have flown and you stare in astonishment at a thief lit up in helicopter search lights, he calls you _detective._

And he doesn’t stop. Over and over you meet him and you are always _detective,_ and he becomes the itch you can never fully scratch as you revaluate him time and time again. KID never quite fits the word _criminal,_ but you avoid thinking about that too much by drawling lazier words like _idiot_ and ignoring the fact that they’re about as potent as middle-school insults.

Still, you meet plenty of people who _do_ fit the word _criminal,_ and it doesn’t surprise you at all that one of these instances is on an airship, three hundred metres from the ground. You work fast, dismantling bombs and directing your friends to help you, and when you come face to face with the leader of the Red Siamese Cats, you step in front of them without a second thought.

You glare defiantly at the man in front of you, this _fucker_ who’s threatened the people you hold dear. Anger bubbles up from within you but you tamp sharply down on it, because you will not be the one to break away from his gaze.

But you forget, in that moment, that your eyeline is far from matching his. You forget that you barely weigh over twenty kilograms, and then he snatches you by the shirt, leading you to, to-

Your stomach swoops in fear when you hear the clatch of the window opening, a hysteric _you’re kidding me_ ringing in your brain; the man’s arm swings and his fingers release your shirt, and then you’re

falling.

Fast, you know it from the wind that presses into your skin and wrenches up your hair. Your scream is cut with panicked gasps as you desperately try to think of something, _anything_ to save yourself.

(At high enough speeds, your brain whispers helplessly, the surface tension of water allows it to exert a reaction force strong enough for it to be akin to falling into concrete at 80 kilometres per hour-)

You squeeze your eyes shut, pushing the thoughts away, thinking, _thinking,_ but nothing is of any use, and you’re overwhelmed by the absolute certainty that you are going to die.

_“God fucking damn it!”_

You curse at the sky in frustration, but your voice trembles as tears fly loose from your eyes, and you wish, you wish-

Then far above you, you see the figure of a waiter, and another puzzle clicks together in your head. You almost want to laugh – of _course_ KID was the waiter, of course he would jump after you, of course he would be wearing an expression of fearful determination visible even through his latex mask. You already know it’s too late. You’ve fallen much too far for him to be able to help you now, yet he still manages to pull a smidgen of violent _hope_ from you that

only crushes you further.

KID is still diving, body cutting through the air like the fine point of a needle, much faster than your terrified flailing. But not fast enough. It won’t be long now, you can already taste salt on your lips, and you shut your eyes…

Only for them to snap open because _KID is still falling,_ has been falling for far too long. You feel a gut-wrenching fear only it’s not for yourself, it’s for this stupid _idiot_ thief trying to save you when if he doesn’t deploy his glider soon he _will not fly._

“No, KID!” you yell, hoping he can hear you over the air beating his ears. You think he shakes his head at you; his eyes are wide and desperate. You may be dying with a thousand regrets but this is one you don’t want, you cry out _“_ come on, KID, please-”

You shatter.

Your story ends there.

* * *

 

This, is how it _really_ goes.

It could never truly go any other way.

Because the scarlet witch doesn’t push when she’s stopped before she can try to save her beloved. After all, among other things, she fell for your cunning, your daring, and your genius. She makes herself trust in what she loves about you as she simply watches, in trepidation, as phantom of night and devil of justice collide.

(your joy is one she can’t share.)

Because you could never just walk away and take Ran home quietly. Could never leave a man with terrifyingly murderous eyes for someone else to deal with – not when you’re there and you _notice_ where no one else does. You excuse yourself from your date so that the person you love the most stays safe, out of reach. You follow a black-suited man into the worst night of your life, saving thousands of others.

(including your own.)

Because you never hesitated, not once, had drilled it into your body since you were a child to _act_ and not _react_ , so you fling yourself out the blimp’s window without a single costly moment’s delay. You fall through the skies towards the bravest child- bravest _man_ you’ve ever met, and you grin triumphantly when you catch him in your arms. The _snap_ of your glider opening sounds like a herald of victory.

(because it _is.)_

Because neither of you fail at acting exactly like yourselves. You make irreplaceable memories where you both always walk away with your resolutions strong and a niggling _possibility_ in your mind, and you take the step to trust, to clasp hands in a partnership and put an end to the darkness that plagues you both.

And so, both of you find yourselves slumped on a couch in the Kudo mansion at 6am. You haven’t slept at all this night, the crucial operation and its aftermath taking all your time. You would still be working, helping, but you’d been kicked out by an entire squad of adults taking the opportunity finally indulge in their protective instincts. Akai Shuichi has left the kettle full of hot water, and two empty mugs sit waiting on the kitchen counter. Furuya Rei has left you with two hastily made sandwiches and instructions to eat them immediately. One of you could probably make a joke on the comedy in a pair of special agents taking the time to essentially mother some teenagers, but the exhaustion has settled deep into your bones, and you both remain silent.

The clock ticks softly in the background, and for once the sound isn’t a countdown. It’s a quiet reminder that time is marching onward and.

There’s no rush at all.

By some implicit agreement, you reach across the couch and _grip_ at each other. You dig your nails in, just a little, but neither of you mind the pinpricks of pain. You hold on tightly to feel the proof of this gut-wrenchingly beautiful reality that you’ve both only ever witnessed in your dreams, because it’s over, it’s really _over._ The snipers on the rooves, the fear in every black suit, the suffocation in a fake identity, the lies, the bleeding, the constant and very real possibility that you’ll _lose-_

Over.

You start to chuckle, shakily at first, but stronger and stronger until the room rings with your combined uproarious and giddy laughter. Soon, you can no longer ignore the hitching in your throat and the burning in your eyes, and then you’re both sobbing as you laugh, letting tears fall free and fast. Your fingers interlock, and you lean into each other, pushing your choked laughs into already ruined shirts. You’d almost forgotten what it felt like to let yourself be so unapologetically happy, side-by-side with someone you know you trust with your life.

This victory, this _moment_ , is entirely yours.

Your story starts here.

**Author's Note:**

> ...Was it okay?
> 
> The second person is purposefully made unclear, and scrapes omniscient for the first three scenes before actually hitting it in the last one. If you want it clarified it was Shinichi, Kaito, Shinichi, then both. 
> 
> I thought about making this longer but. This was painful to write, both from an emotional standpoint and a purely practical one ;; There are only so many ways you can write full scenes of "something fails and they die" without it getting a little uninspired. 
> 
> Please don't hesitate to comment if you enjoyed it, if you hated it, s'whatever, I'd like to hear it <3
> 
> (and if you see a mistake, just fuckn call me out)


End file.
